


For The Secrets To Unlock

by valenstyne



Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Shameless Smut, secretly-subby Raffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valenstyne/pseuds/valenstyne
Summary: Raffles tugged experimentally at the chain, taking no notice of my fixation. “Yes, that’s good,” he said. “Quite sturdy. I shouldn’t have a hope of escape.”





	For The Secrets To Unlock

**Author's Note:**

> Not set at any specific point in canon or in any specific version of canon, though probably closer in tone to the TV series (i.e., they all lived happily ever after), but this is a complete and total PWP so hopefully that doesn't matter too much. The use of the word "sadist" may be slightly anachronistic, or Raffles is just on the cutting edge of kink terminology. Title from 10,000 Maniacs, "Love Among The Ruins".

I was ensconced in an armchair in Raffles’ rooms, sipping my after-dinner drink and perusing an excellent detective story in the newest issue of _The Strand_ , when a metallic clicking attracted my attention. I looked up to see Raffles seated on the hearth holding a pair of handcuffs, his lock-picking kit open next to him. He was in his shirtsleeves and intense concentration was plain upon his handsome face.

“Not anticipating trouble, are you?” I asked.

Raffles glanced at me. “What? Oh, no, not at all. Merely keeping in practice in case that dread day should ever come.”

I nodded and watched him labor at his task for a moment more, and then a thought struck me. “Wouldn’t it be better to practice with them on?”

The smile widened. Had I examined Raffles’ face more closely just then I might have discerned a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “It would indeed.” He rose and handed me the cuffs. “Would you do the honors?”

I weighed the cold metal in my hands. Raffles stood patiently before me, arms outstretched, a submissiveness in his posture that I could not imagine him ever displaying to an actual officer of the law; I was certain that if my friend ever found himself well and truly collared he would remain defiant to the last. The very idea of Raffles under arrest made me feel faintly ill, yet I could not quite connect that feeling to the pair of cuffs themselves, nor to the image of Raffles restrained in them. I found my mouth had gone strangely dry.

“Bunny,” Raffles said gently, and I realized I had been staring at the handcuffs, rather lost in thought. I murmured an apology and snapped the cuffs on his wrists with, I confess, an unfamiliar sensation of power—and found myself staring again, as the reality proved superior to my previous imaginings. 

Raffles tugged experimentally at the chain, taking no notice of my fixation. “Yes, that’s good,” he said. “Quite sturdy. I shouldn’t have a hope of escape.”

“Not—” I swallowed with some difficulty. “Not a hope.” Tearing my gaze from the long fingers Raffles was flexing ineffectually, I nodded towards the hearth. “Unless you picked the lock, of course.” I may have chuckled nervously as I spoke.

“Of course,” Raffles said solemnly, and to my relief he returned to his tools. I retrieved my magazine and tried to resume the story I had been enjoying, but between the noises from the fireside and the images in my head I found it impossible to keep my attention on the page. I could not stop thinking of Raffles, who was usually so in control whether in crime or in our most intimate moments, almost defenseless, those dextrous hands shackled and grasping at nothing.

“I’ve had an idea,” Raffles said, and I started so violently I nearly tore the magazine in half. “My apologies, Bunny, I didn’t intend to spook you.”

“It’s fine,” I mumbled, my face burning. I could not bring myself to look Raffles in the eye, and I fumbled for my drink in the hopes of calming my nerves. “What’s your idea?”

“Well, my dear chap, I was merely thinking that I ought to up the ante a bit.” His tone was airy, but I sensed danger. “I’d like to test my skills under duress, as it were. Perhaps you’d do me the favor of playing the part of the law? You can arrest me, and I’ll see how quickly I can escape your clutches.”

Somehow I managed not to choke on my mouthful of whisky, but it was a very near thing. 

“Well, if you’d like,” I said once I could speak, although I am afraid my voice was not entirely steady. I stood, and then wished I had not when I realized the conspicuousness of my arousal. It was futile to think Raffles would not notice the state I was in, yet he made no comment, merely watched me with the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well,” Raffles said with annoying calmness, standing again and raising his cuffed hands above his head, “why don’t you come here and search me?”

“Oh,” I responded, having nothing more articulate to say. “All right then.” Wiping my clammy palms on my trousers, I went to him and, telling myself that Raffles meant this little game as a perfectly innocent, if that word could be applied honestly to anything Raffles did, diversion, I began to pat him down from a relatively safe arm’s-length away.

“Don’t you think,” Raffles drawled, “that you ought to be a bit more thorough in ensuring I have nothing dangerous concealed about my person?”

“But I know you haven’t,” said I. 

“But I might,” Raffles returned. He drew himself up straighter, raising his chin in a posture of dignified surrender. “Humor me, Bunny.”

Seeing no other option, I redoubled my efforts, pressing my hands more firmly to his torso. I could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the firmness of his muscles beneath my hands, his heartbeat strong and steady, and I was made dizzy with wanting him. Fighting back the temptation to abandon all pretense and throw myself upon Raffles—the physical aspect of our relationship was still too new, and my own experience with such matters too lacking, for me to dare anything so rash—I attempted to calm my breathing and compose myself. Surely Raffles would free himself of the cuffs at any moment and bring an end to my torment, I thought. 

I was wrong, of course. Rather than deliver me from the charade, Raffles interrupted my awkward groping by saying suddenly, with a roguish smile, “Don’t you think you ought to come a bit closer?” Before I could reply he had dropped his arms round my shoulders and pulled me tightly against his body. “That’s much better,” he said, and added “Inspector.”

“Raffles!” I said, utterly flustered. At such close quarters I could not now help but notice he was in the same physical state of arousal as I, nor had it entirely escaped my attention that he was still cuffed. My hands hovered uncertainly in the air; I did not quite understand where the game was going.

Raffles took pity upon me at last. “Touch me, Bunny,” he said softly, and I settled my arms around him with great relief. He kissed me deeply and eagerly, and I responded in kind, only too happy to give myself over to his wonderful mouth. This lasted for some time. Raffles, restrained by the cuffs, could not do what he usually did and direct me as he pleased, and I sensed the frustration mounting in him. He scrabbled fruitlessly at my back with his chained hands as I began slowly to unbutton his shirt and plant kisses along the line of his jaw. When I finally touched his bare chest, his head fell backwards and I could not resist the temptation to put my mouth against his throat and bite a mark onto the skin. 

“Bunny,” he groaned, and writhed in my embrace. “Be sporting! Don’t, ah, don’t torture me just because I can’t fight back.”

Had I wished, I could have reminded him of half a dozen occasions when he had made me suffer worse and for longer, but my mood was forgiving. “What would you have me do instead?” 

“What, indeed,” said Raffles. “To be perfectly honest,” and here his voice dropped to a low, alluring murmur, “I would have you do whatever you like to me, torture though it may be. I am entirely at your mercy, and you may deal with me as you please.”

Again my mouth went dry. Though I did not really believe Raffles to be as much in my power as he was claiming, the mere idea that he was willing to pretend at being helpless—that he trusted _me_ with his helplessness—was overwhelming. For a moment all I could do was hold him, one arm still round his slim waist and my other hand resting over his heart, now beating almost as rapidly as my own. I tried to speak but found myself at a loss for words, so I kissed him again instead and reached between his legs. He moaned and clutched the back of my neck as I stroked him through his trousers. 

“Raffles,” I managed to whisper at last. “A.J., I—I want you.”

His eyes sparkled. “Then have me.”

I needed no further urging, though it pained me to have to duck out of the circle of his arms. Fortunately it was but the work of a moment to divest Raffles of his trousers and then, in a burst of enthusiasm that surprised even myself, to spin him round and bend him over the end table. He gasped out a laugh, bracing himself on his elbows and spreading his long legs for balance. The handcuffs jangled, a sharp reminder of his vulnerability, and the strength of my own desire made me weak in the knees.

Raffles looked back at me, his face flushed and beautiful. “Can’t you even make it to the bedroom, Bunny?”

I leaned down and nipped at the shell of his ear. “No.”

“Fair enough,” Raffles replied cheerfully, “I doubt I could either. There’s oil in my lock-pick kit.” 

My hands shook as I retrieved the little bottle, Raffles watching me heatedly all the while. At the first touch of my slippery fingers he hung his head and swore. In this, too, I was determined to take my time; Raffles was always exceedingly careful with me when our positions were reversed, but the few times so far that I had taken him, he had rather rushed the preparations. Now I had the chance to indulge myself to the fullest. Raffles was glorious in this state, panting and rocking back against the intrusion of my fingers, a wildness in him that I had never seen before. 

“Bunny,” he said breathlessly when I had three fingers buried deep inside him, “I swear, you are—you are an _incorrigible_ sadist.”

“I wonder what that makes you, then,” I retorted. The ache of my arousal was becoming unbearable. I fumbled my own trousers open and gripped myself, stroking lightly as I did all I knew with my other hand to make Raffles lose whatever composure he had left. 

“It makes me a very lucky man, and a very, ah, very desperate one—oh, Bunny, my Bunny, _please_ —”

Regardless of my intentions to make this experience last as long as possible, I could hold back no longer. Easing my fingers free, I drizzled more oil on myself and entered him as unhurriedly as I could manage. The hot, slick clutch of his body around me was incredible. Once I was fully sheathed in him I stopped, trying to catch my breath and retain some measure of self-control, although the sounds Raffles was making tempted me to abandon my efforts. He arched and whined under me, seeming every bit as desperate as he claimed.

“Be still,” I said, my hold tightening on his hips, and rather to my surprise he exhaled sharply and obeyed. Over his shoulder I could see his chained hands were clasped almost in an attitude of prayer, but his knuckles were white. Drawing a deep breath, I began to move. 

Fear of hurting him kept my thrusts slow at first, though being inside him was heavenly and restraining myself was nearly as great a torment for me as it seemed to be for Raffles, who was soon tossing his head and imploring me to go harder, deeper, faster. He was positively wanton, crying out a string of blasphemies and filthy encouragements that would have quite thoroughly embarrassed me in any other circumstance, but now spurred me on to greater heights of lust. 

Soon I had found a rhythm, the handcuffs rattling and Raffles hissing obscenities each time I plunged into him. My hands moved over his body, sliding under his shirt and tracing the planes of his back, the curves of his ribs, the taut muscles of his stomach and thighs, yet avoiding the place I knew he wanted them most. Raffles always took care in our encounters that I should find release first, and though I was determined to do the same for him I did not intend to do so yet. Not least because I was discovering I quite enjoyed the knowledge that with his hands fettered, Raffles was wholly dependent upon me for his pleasure. 

This feeling of dominance, of power and control over a man who habitually flaunted his disregard for any earthly authority, and the realization that he was willingly and indeed happily submitting to me—me!—was strange and intoxicating. My love for him burned more fiercely at that moment than it ever had before; I was certain I did not deserve such a privilege, and equally certain I would never intentionally do anything to make Raffles regret granting it to me. 

Feeling both possessive and protective, I bent over him and kissed the nape of his neck. He quivered and tightened around me when my lips touched him, so I repeated the gesture, then bit him for good measure. The marks of my teeth looked sharp and indelible, and I ran my tongue over them, tasting the salt of his overheated skin. Raffles actually whimpered. 

Knowing I could not hold out much longer, I reached around and took hold of him, stroking his thick, hard flesh in time with the movements of my own inside his body, and Raffles dropped his head and sobbed. He was more undone than I had ever seen him, shuddering helplessly and clawing at the table, my name falling from his lips over and over as I brought him relentlessly to completion. When he reached his climax, his entire body went rigid and he wrung down around me almost to the point of pain, choking out a wordless cry as he spilled in my hand. I lasted only a few brief seconds longer, taking hold of his hips and thrusting into him as deeply as I could, release overtaking me with blinding intensity.

I collapsed against Raffles, who was in turn collapsed against the table, and for a few moments we were silent save for our ragged breathing, our bodies trembling with the aftershocks of our exertions. Finally I regained my wits enough to reluctantly pull away and ask, in a hoarse voice unfamiliar to my own ears, if Raffles was all right.

He laughed shakily, glancing at me from beneath his tousled hair, his eyes bright. “I am more than all right, my Bunny, though I shall be rather sore. I had no idea you were capable of such passion.”

“Nor did I,” I admitted, taking out my handkerchief and beginning a perfunctory job of setting myself to rights. My legs were still weak and I had to steady myself with the arm of the sofa. “How did you do at your lock-picking?”

“Ah, that.” Raffles straightened up slowly, wincing a little, and ruefully held out his hands. To my surprise, the cuffs were still secure around his wrists. “I’m afraid I quite forgot about it in all the excitement.”

I must confess I felt no small amount of pride, though I tried to conceal it. Hooking a finger around the chain linking his wrists, I drew Raffles close and kissed him. He was pliant, relaxed, with a sweetness about him that I saw only in these moments. 

“Perhaps you ought to keep practicing,” I said when we parted.

Raffles smiled wickedly. “My thoughts exactly, dearest Bunny.”


End file.
